Of Breath and Light
by Caleigho Meer
Summary: The Aftermath of Seto's departure. Sort of a companion piece to The End of All Things
1. Chapter 1

It was strange how much harder the decision to leave became as the actual parting moment drew closer. Mokuba lay the plane ticket on the table, scowled at the deadline that was approaching, and scowled deeper when he stared at the familiar walls. Swallowing hard, Mokuba folded his arms in frustration. It was a simple flight, and being a Kaiba, he had more than enough money to fly back here if he was unhappy, if it didn't work out...

It was more uncertainty, more tormented nagging of his own thoughts that seemed to do little more than wind himself in an endless noose composed of loss and grief and time. Grimly, Mokuba folded another shirt and dumped it into the open suitcase,  
the activity not providing any of the distraction he so craved at the moment. Had it only been three months since Seto's death? Had it been that long?

Mokuba's head was throbbing now. Grief, he knew now, had no deadline in ending. Time was a funny thing, too. When Seto was alive, it seemed to speed by so bitterly fast, until it took him away and Mokuba was left alone with the ending, and the aftermath. Time seemed to be frozen within the walls of the mansion, as well. that aching loss still felt raw and unending, an amputation of his soul that still bled.

Three months. Technically, three months and four days, but Mokuba saw little point in counting the exact moments. Though he was far more free with his emotions than Seto could ever be, Mokuba's easy smile cloaked a core of Kaiba steel when needed.  
Many had commented on how 'brave' the last Kaiba was when he put on a stoic, polite smile for the press conference, plastered on like a slab of iron over a broken bone. Nailed on like a mask. He was tall enough and far enough from the cameras to hide the trembling of his hands, and the tears in his eyes as he bowed his head, let the dark hair fall like a curtain, and slowly, read the prepared statement under the glare of lights and camera flashes....

"It is my unfortunate duty to announce to you all that Seto Kaiba, President of KaibaCorps, died at his home after a long illness. He was thirty-three. Production of KaibaCorps will not be affected by this very tragic event. Please respect the privacy of his loved ones during this painful time, and let them grive without undue interferance. Thank you."

With that, Mokuba abruptly turned on his heel, and ignored the whining roar of invasive press hounds, the bright flashes of light, the demands for answers he didn't have. He didn't look back at the reporters, paid no heed to the fire he left in his wake, said nothing more than a polite thank you to Roland as he was escorted into the black limo and swept far away from that horrendous moment. Roland had hastily shut the door behind him as he ducked in behind Mokuba. Mokuba's lips quaked in amusement as Roland snarled at the clogged street, and the pounding of fists on the windows.

"Blood-sucking parasites have no respect. Drive!" He barked the order to the limo driver, and only eased when he felt the car slowly negotioting the way through the throngs of the crowd. Seeing Mokuba's withered, white trembling, he turned back to the younger man, and shook his head, apologetically. "My apologies, Mr. Kaiba."

Mokuba's lips tightened in fleeting anger, and then resignation, as he looked back at the throngs of parasites behind them.

"I could never understand why Seto was in such a foul mood after a press conference, until now, Roland. He must have felt like he was being eaten alive." Mokuba blanched as soon as the words left his mouth. Rolland only sighed, and grimaced at the flashing cameras before he turned back to Mokuba.

"Are you alright, Mr. Kaiba?" The concern was comforting, but Mokuba honestly didn't have the patience for long reassurances at the moment.

Mokuba shrugged, tiredly. "I don't know if I'll ever be 'alright,' Roland, but at least *that* part is over with, thank God.  
I'd like to head home, please."

That conference had been only four days after Seto's funeral. Seto had the foresight to insure that his service was as private and healing and sheltered as well as he could. The actual ceremony had been brief, but appropriate. It had been a teary blur to Mokuba, words droning on, drowning in his ears, while he sat in the first row and stared down at his brother's corpse.  
For the life of him, the emptiness around him, Mokuba could not make it compute that the corpse in the casket and that aching, glaring absense of his brother meant that Seto had died. He knew it, he knew it more deeply than words could say. He just...couldn't feel it. Indeed, he felt nothing but raw, numb torpor. Ice freezing over the pain. Bewildered acceptance of reality before the world and the terrible denial ended, and the endless reasons and whys doing nothing to heal him.

That press conference was the only bit of torture Mokuba forced upon himself. By then, he knew that speculation and rumors had blossomed just like the cancer that had claimed his brother. He seldom watched television, hardly read the papers, and mostly kept himself shielded away in the mansion, only venturing out at the greatest need, and then, only for a few moments.

Days, moments, memories. Mokuba drifted like a ghost over the abyss of the life he and Seto used to have. Sheltered by the walls, remembering the pain, saying the good-byes and still not knowing how to let any of it go. He lingered, needlessly over so many photographs, the memories replaying in his torpid mind like an endless loop. He heard Seto's voice, he remembered Seto's pain, sacrifice, and felt himself miserably inadequate to live with that as well.

He ate what he could choke down, he drank what was necessary, and he lived feeling like he was spent and raw and over with, though he was only 25.

Another troubled night of twisting in the sheets, and wrestling for the sleep he could not find. Mokuba slid his blurred eyes open to stare at the uninteresting ceiling, popped a bitter fist into the fluff of his pillow, before he curled up again, and yanked the quilts over his head.

Sighing, Mokuba sat up and rubbed his eyes and slid out of bed, flinched at the cold floor beneath his feet. With a grunt, he donned socks, and a robe, before he rose out of the bed. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, anyway.

The hallway was lit by the accent lights, cheery against the black abysmal sky outside, the rug soft beneith him as he wearily trudged down the familiar path he had taken so many times during the last year. Strange how it seemed so long, and endless, though it only took him a few seconds to halt and hesitate, just as he always did before entering this place..again.

The door to Seto's room. The door knob felt cold and uninviting to his shaking fingers, the shadows seemed hungry and waiting, and the strange groan of the wood seemed loud as gunfire in the silence as Mokuba took a shaking breath and opened it, forced himself to step in.

It was the room that Seto had lived and died in, unchanged except for the occasional cleaning. It was here that Mokuba found the most solace and the most hurt. It was here that Mokuba felt the closest to Seto, and if he closed his eyes and indulged in the longing long enough, could pretend that his big brother was coming back.

The furnishings were comfortable, and inviting, nothing like the bloated, austere tastes of Gozaburo, or the brickabrack that Mokuba favored. No, here it was completely Seto. The small fire place that flooded the room with warmth and light. The overstuffed indigo chair where Seto had huddled to muse by the flames as he scribbled out his musings in the leather bound journal that was still resting on the side table. The bed, with its velour blankets, in shades of cerilian and navy, and that huge quilt that Seto had wrapped himself in more times that Mokuba cared to remember.

Seto's journal. The leather was soft beneith Mokuba's fingers as he ran his fingers over the cover, and bit his lip to keep back the tears. In time, he had promised himself to read the thing from cover to cover. Seto himself had told him he had taken to journal writing to give him 'a written record of my words when I'm no longer here." Mokuba seldom ventured to read it, found it unbearable during the first weeks. The agony was raw and far too fresh for him to do more than hold it in his shaking hands, and weep. Mokuba had tried, of course. But Seto's elegant, swirling script had always blurred too much to be read, and the words just hurt too much. That was a month ago. Now, with nothing but time and emptiness, Mokuba's longing had swung back and forth between wanting nothing more than to wrap himself in whatever bit Seto left him for the comfort and the forgetting of his absence. On those days, he would clutch the journal to him, wile away the hours pouring over pictures, letting the memories come back unabated. Other days, he found himself feeling trapped as an animal in a cage, the silence strangling, and the walls closing in. On those strange days, he'd just zip up his jacket, pack his cell phone, and drive away from the grounds, not having a direction, not having any reason other than he had to get away. It was enough to blast the music, to feel the roar of the engine, to see the sky shifting through the tinted windows, and the mansion disapear for a few hours of distraction.

It was a strange existance, alternating between hunted recluse and unobtrusive ghost as he wondered the halls or Domino City with equally aimless direction, in either path.

And now, after three months of doing little more than wallow, however justified, Mokuba awoke with bright realization and disgust with himself for doing absolutely nothing. He tossed the sheets away, grunted as he rose, shook off sleep like an old hound. Seto would probably be ashamed of him catering to so much pain and doing nothing about it...or maybe his brother would have understood and let him understood him better than anybody, and never hated his younger sibling for his own volitility that was in such contrast to Seto's iron will and restraint. Mokuba smirked at the thought, and realized with a bit of a start that he had thought of Seto without that animalistic instinct to claw down the sky itself and bring Seto back.

It would have been useless, and cruel, even if he could. To force Seto's bright, fierce spirit back into that broken wreck of a body, to inflict so much more pain, and snatch him out of heaven...it was perverse.

It was a breaking moment of clarity, when he held that journal in his trembling hands and settled himself into Seto's chair, carefully turning the pages, forced himself to read the same words again. It was a dull ache, and not an overwhelming agony for the first time in God only knew how long. 


	2. In Memory

Seto's penmanship was flowing and elegant in bright, swirling curves beneith his fingers and mercifully easy to read.

Mokuba-  
Forgive me for the paltry attempt to convey what you mean to me. I never was much of a writer, especially for something of this sort. So, bear with me, please, as I muddle through this letter with as much truth as I can. I know that you'll be reading this, probably on a lonely night, in this room, huddled by the fire, perhaps in my chair,lavishing so much regret over my absence. Mokuba, I'm sorry for that. Were there a way to spare you from the hurt, were there a way to stay with you, I'd be there now. Of all the possibilities that life ever held for me, I never thought I would be leaving you so soon. And yet, it was worth it to be there for you in the first place. Hold on to that, Mokuba. There's not much that I can leave you, but I hope that you draw some strength in knowing how much I love you, how much I will continue to love you, beyond these fleeting mortal years, and beyond the cruel, cruel seperation, however temporary it may be. I will see you again, Mokuba. That is as certain as the heaven I went to the moment I left the world and the God who finally granted me relief from so much pain.

Do you know how much it was hurting me to stay, Mokuba? I did what I could to hide it from you, keep it away, ignore it. And you bore my delusions in silence, let me cherish my delusions of strength when you knew that the loss of control would break me. I didn't realize until it was almost too late how much more it was hurting you to watch me suffer than help me bear it.  
And just when I thought everything was lost, you came up beside me and helped me go through my last months with more grace and endurance that I ever deserved. Throughout the years, you've done nothing but love and accept me, and in doing that, you gave me a reason to continue through more darkness than even you could fathom. You saved me, Mokuba. You saved me from the misery of being alone, of a life without meaning. For that precious gift, I am eternally grateful to you, little brother.

I don't want to leave you with some sweetly-worded sympathy card, or bright, false declarations of how cherished my memory will be. It's enough for me to know that you'll hold my memories, hopefully with a bit of mercy. I know how many times I failed you. I know how many mistakes I made, and yet, you grew into a worthy human being despite my short-comings. Thank you for that, Mokuba. For all the pretenses, and my inability to say how much I love you, for all the times I wish I could have told you how grateful I am to you, I can only ask your forgiveness, little brother, and tell you thank you.

Thank you, Mokuba, for all the deep and profound things that can't be conveyed with something as small as words, all those moments I wish that I could somehow wrap up as a parting gift that you could take out when you need them. I hope that I have given you solace for the grief, or maybe a distraction from the hectic world that will undoubtably be resuming its frantic pace long after my remains are committed to the earth.

On a dark night like this, Mokuba, as I'm sitting here writing this, and praying that it reaches you, I remember a promise that I forced you to make when I was in another one of my angst-ridden moments. I made you promise me that you'd go onto live your life. I'm holding you to that promise, little brother. Live for me. Live for me, for all those miles and memories, and good things you have coming to you. And in some small way, little brother, I'll stay with you, maybe in memory, maybe in hopefully what is little more than a passing thought that leaves you with a smile and not so many tears. And, until the day that I'm with you again, make the journey back to me worth it. Love, your big brother, Seto.

The letter had been gently tucked into the leather binding, the envelope crumpled with the many, many times Mokuba had read it over the last few months. Finding it had been an unexpected gift. It was on a brooding day of soft rain that Mokuba had finally gathered enough guts to start navigating through the necessary paper work that Seto had left behind in running Kaiba Corps. Mokuba was touched, but not at all suprised to see every needed document had been labeled, signed, and pristinely arranged along with detailed instructions left by Seto in each merticulously kept record. It was an amazing accomplishment, and a liberating one. It was almost eerie, as well, how well Seto had customized the transition of power left in his death. Mokuba and Seto had a few terse discussions about the actual running of the company, in the event that Seto could no longer run the bohemoth. Mokuba was again suprised by the blunt question Seto had flung out, if he wanted the company, the assets, a say in what happened, or nothing at all but some money to live off of. Mokuba could only shrug, head spinning at the sheer volume of responsibility and his own gaping sense of worthlessness when it came to KaibaCorps.

Seto's eyes had narrowed into considering slits, and he drummed his long, elegant fingers on the mahogony desk with impatience at Mokuba's floundering, blithering answer for long moments, and Mokuba cringed when he heard Seto sigh, expecting Seto's verbal lashing at any moment.

There was only that long, waiting silence before Seto only raised an eyebrow with a wry smile, and chuckled softly. "It's alright, Mokuba. It's overwhelming for me at times. How about this? I write the papers so you can assume what role you want, if any, and leave it at that?"

Mokuba's jaw dropped. "You mean...you're not angry?"

Seto snorted at that. "Not at all. I would only be angry if you agreed to be shackled to KaibaCorps because you felt obligated to me. I've invested my life and years into building this company. It would be cheap for you to take on a role with it just because you felt like you have to. I don't want that for my company, or for you."

And Seto had left it that way between them, accepting Mokuba's lack of interest with little more than a shrug, and his reassurances that he was more than capable of insuring KaibaCorps' survival.

Mokuba's thoughts were interrupted by the soft knock on the door, and Roland's quiet, "Mr. Kaiba?"

"Come on in, Roland." Mokuba called, as he quirked an eyebrow in suprise. Roland rarely ventured into this part of the mansion unless there was some great need.

Roland entered at Mokuba's answer, holding a tray with a glass of Mokuba's favorite sweet tea, and a plate of Mokuba's favorite lunch, grill cheese and chips. Awkwardly, Roland offered the plate, with a shrug. "I wasn't sure how hungry you might be, Mr. Kaiba. I hope I wasn't taking too much a liberty with your lunch."

Mokuba gave him a sad smile, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. "Thank you, Roland. You know that's my favorite. Roland flushed, gave a curt nod,his eyes briefly glistening when he saw the plane ticket. He was already almost gone from the room when he heard Mokuba call his name. Roland turned, his hand on the doornob, and eyebrows raised.

Mokuba waved him over, and slid into a chair, motioned for Roland to sit. Mokuba gave him a tolerant smile when he saw the powerful man, clearly ill at ease, finally seat himself.

"Mr. Kaiba?"

Mokuba bowed his head. "Roland, you've become part of my family over the years, regardless of if you feel comfortable with that or not, and I owe you my thanks for everything that you've done for me and Seto. Your loyalty and service has been an absolute gift, and I hope you know that."

Roland's eyes welled up as Mokuba slid the small packet of papers towards him. "And, that is why I would be honored if you would take charge of Kaiba Corps while I'm gone."

Roland was speechless with shock for a moment or two, and then tried to stammer out in absolute shock, "But...sir! I...can't, it's not my place!"

Mokuba gave him another tolerant smile. "Actually, Roland, it *is* your place. Aside from me, Seto never trusted anybody more than you, and I would feel a lot better knowing that I left his company in your capable hands. Besides, I'll be keeping an eye on things here. It's not like I can't just grab a quick flight home if I need to. It was cleared by Seto, anyway, and the Board. All you need to do is sign, and accept."

Roland seemed overwhelmed as he accepted the papers. "I don't know what to say, Mr. Kaiba."

Mokuba only took his slack hand in his own, and shook it. "Roland, you will always have a place here, for as long as you want it. Honestly, it would be a real relief for me to know that Seto's company will be left in the hands of somebody would know what he wanted, and follow that. All you have to say is yes."

Roland could only nod, a trembling, uncertain smile rising to his lips as he accepted Mokuba's offered pen. After scanning the documents, he silently scribbled his name on the line, while Mokuba watched, satisfied. He forced a tired smile of acceptance as he tucked the papers away.

"Thank you so much, Roland. I know that it's sudden, but it was what Seto wanted, and I trust his judgment...and yours."

Roland nodded, as his eyes fell onto the plane ticket, again. "So, you do intend to go through with leaving, Mr. Kaiba?"

Mokuba put his sandwich back on the plate, and looked down at Roland, tilting his head to the side. And Roland was struck anew at just how much time had changed the last Kaiba.

Gone was the bright laughter, the cheer that was such a brutal contrast to Seto's cool veneer. Gone was those infernal baggy shirts and vests he had insisted on wearing as a youngster, and that unruly thatch of long, long hair. At 25, Mokuba had inherited the Kaiba height, rounding out to a slender six foot two, a few inches shorter that Seto had been. With those obsidion eyes and long black hair, he was even more of a contrast to Seto's azure eyes and lighter hair. Both Kaibas did share those high cheekbones, but while Seto had been mostly scowls and ice, it was rare to see Mokuba without a smile.

Mokuba's lip worked into his teeth, as he flung his arm wide, in a sweeping gesture towards the room, the mansion, the world around him.

"It's been three months since Seto died, Roland. Three months that I've done nothing but go through Seto's rooms, look at Seto's pictures, remember Seto, and cry, and stare at these walls...." The broken sigh was gut-wrenching as Mokuba's hand strayed unwitting to his locket. "Losing Seto is the hardest thing that I have ever lived through, Roland. My last promise to him was that I would go on with my life, and not just live with his memories, the aftermath." Mokuba's shoulder hitched helplessly, as he gave a wry smile. "Seto knew me too well, because I've been doing exactly what I promised not to. I know, he'd want me to heal, and move on. "

Mokuba dragged an aggitated hand through his hair as he groped for an explanation. "And at first, holing up in the mansion seemed like a good idea. I was surrounded by Seto's things, there's not a single place here where I can't look and remember something about him, about...us. That used to be a comfort, Roland, but now, it's torture. I honestly don't know if I'm just running from the pain, or even if this pain will ever end, but I do know that I can't stay *here.* I have to learn how to live again, Roland. And I can't do that if I stay."

Roland only nodded in tears, and to Mokuba's suprise, suddenly snatched Mokuba's hand in a firm grip. "I wish you all the best, whichever path you take, Mr. Kaiba. And if you don't mind me saying so, your brother would be very proud of you."

It was another task accomplished, another bit of Seto's legacy passed on with grace. With the state of Seto's company no longer plaguing him, Mokuba was now free to say his own good-byes in his own private anguish.

His boots rang hollow over the dark, hard dirt, as Mokuba respectfully picked his way through the rows of head had become a weekly ritual for him to take this sad, sad walk through the serene silence, over to Seto's grave. Fall had changed to frigid winter, life had changed inexpliably, and Mokuba noticed its passing with ever sharpening awareness.  
Today was a dreary day, chilled, the sky the color of bone, and threatening more ice on the way. Mokuba shivered against the cold, braced his arms across his chest. For so long, he had lingered here, caught between grief and letting go, somewhere in that brittle world of the life that Seto had left him, and the future Mokuba now had to face alone. Had it only been three months? There was little to mark the passage of time any more. Mokuba worked the zipper of his coat closer to his chin, and sighed. It never got easier, just bearable. Mokuba halted when he reached the edge of the last row where Seto was buried.

Mokuba stared wearily at Seto's headstone. It was simple- alabaster, oblong and made even more obscure by the recent snow fall. Seto's name, date of birth and death were emblazoned across the stone in elegant swirls, along with Mokuba's own addition of "beloved brother." It seemed cheap, to reduce such a life into words on a stone. But, Seto, especially towards the end, had rejected such bloated opulance, and Mokuba knew that Seto would have been upset to have such a modest wish violated. And, Mokuba knew that even if he could carve out a mountain, or write it in the sky, it would never be a fitting tribute to his loss of Seto. Such a thing just couldn't be carved by human hand, or transmitted by mere words.

Mokuba bit his lip. Now that he was here again, farewell seemed just as final as when Seto had been buried. Sighing, Mokuba rocked back on his haunches. Mokuba knew that he was only talking to a stone...Seto's bones may have been laid to the earth, but his brother was as far in heaven as Mokuba was on earth. And that bit of solace was enough to give him the breath to continue, but not without another tear....

"Big brother, this will be the last time that I'll be here. I'm leaving Domino. I think you might be laughing in heaven, right now, and I hope that you are..and I don't know when, or if I'll ever be back. I just...can't stay. Not after all that's happened, and all the memories. I've got to heal, Seto. I have to heal, and move on, and learn to live again, like I promised you. And I just can't do that here, any more. Not when I'm so haunted, and chained to everything that I've lost. I love you, Seto. I love you so much. And I hope you understand that."

The words felt like boulders lodged in his throat, it hurt that much to speak them.  
Mokuba swallowed hard before he continued, "I don't exactly know where I'm heading, either,...not yet. And that's alright. I'm tired of directions and paths anyway. "I never knew that three months could feel like a lifetime, big brother." Mokuba's words seemed strangely loud in the serene stillness of the stones around him as he rolled his eyes heavenward. "I know, Seto, you wouldn't want me to come here every day, and talk like I do. But I can't help it. I miss you so much, and it...just hurts...." Mokuba's voice dropped to a mutilated whisper of sheer pain as he clenched a fist over a cheek to catch the tear. Helplessly, his fingers dug into his long sleeves and he clutched them to his heaving ribs in an attempt to hold back the urge to wail at the overwhelming loss. Three months had passed since Seto's death. Three months of empty, gnawing anguish, and time, endless, cruel time that was laced with Mokuba's faltering attempts to learn to live again. To describe it as hell seemed a bit cheap. To label it torture seemed too small. And, yet, time in its endless noose had woven its way around Mokuba and dragged him through the moments, regardless of his consent.

The last year of Seto's life had been hell for Seto to endure, and hell for Mokuba to witness. Death had been a mercy, however harsh a deliverance. From the time of diagnosis, to the last days, Mokuba had been there for his brother in every way he knew how. The daily struggles of just managing such a catastrophic event, the slow slide, and the ending...and the time in between had somehow infused him into a perverse union that had encompassed everything that he knew. Mokuba had held Seto's tired, tired body in his final moments. He had felt the last breath lurch from his brother's lips, held his brother's flesh until it had gone cold, and stood at the edge of the open grave when the casket was lowered.

Mokuba had stood by for nine months and three days, knowing that Seto was going to die. Seto knew that he was going to die and never tried to conceal it from him. It had been a tortured understanding and a momentous task to say a farewell so long in coming, and yet so abrupt when Seto actually passed away.

Wounded, so wounded.

"I know that it hurt you to stay as long as you did, Seto, and if I get any comfort from this, it's that you're no longer suffering."

The images rose like shadows over his thoughts. Seto's wanning hands, the color of moonlight, clutching his own, those azure eyes filled with so much sorrow, the wheel chair when the legs failed. The bed-ridden days, and the endless hospital visits, all pouring like lava through his iced over veins.

"And I know, that somewhere inside, you knew that it would hurt me just as much to let you go. I know that you tried to give as much comfort and strength to me as you could, and I tried to give you as much reassurance that I was going to be alright..."

A brutal promise, heaved out from lips curled with the attempt to speak. Seto's cold hand in Mokuba's two warm ones, held there like a holy relic. Words spoken, useless in their torment against the onslaught. And the small silver locket that gleamed against Seto's dark blankets as Mokuba held him in his arms, as brothers did. Mokuba's fingers strayed to the small,  
squarish silver locket at his neck, that held Seto's picture. Seto's half of the original had been buried with him. True, it was battered now, from the weight of the years. But it was precious to him, and he could no more leave without it than he could his own skin.

"And, I will be alright... but not...not yet."

Mokuba stared up at the sky, at the heaven where Seto was, and then lowered his eyes back down to the earth. The gloaming light marked the end of another day, and Mokuba drew his long arms deeper into the sleeves of his coat. The winter was mild enough, but he could still see his breath wafting in white little puffs.

Seto's grave was devoid of any of the typical plastic flowers, or other sentimental baubles that decorated a few of the other graves. Mokuba knew that Seto had despised plastic flowers in life, and wasteful to leave anything of value out here in this desolate place.

Mokuba wiped away another tear, put his palm against Seto's name, flinched at the cold against his flesh. He lingered there for a long moment, eyes shut, the sobs ebbing away to a dull ache. He only whispered Seto's name, and then finally rose to walk away. 


	3. Yami

It was a quiet afternoon in the Game Shop. The languid sun was streaming through the bright winter air, there were only a few shoppers out to brave the ice, so all was rather boring, and uneventful for Yami as he started to arrange the new orders of cards for display behind the glass counters. He was grateful for the peace, though. The solemn white outside put him in a rather thoughtful mood. Solomon Moto was out to pick up a new order from the post office, and Yugi was curled in bed, nursing a rather nasty winter cold, so Yami was alone with his cards and his thoughts.

He startled when he heard the cheerful door chimes ringing, announcing somebody's arrival. Yami hastily put the box of cards down, and rose with a polite smile to greet the customer. That polite smile melted into uncertain shock when Mokuba walked through the door,brushing the wet from his dark hair and stomping snow off of his boots with a grunt. The uneasy silence was loud when Mokuba saw Yami's head emerge from behind the glass counter, and that awkward flicker of a wince over his mouth.

Yami quickly mastered his suprise, though, and was already striding over to meet him.

Yami said nothing, but his eyes glided up and down Mokuba with a scowl of concern. Yami said nothing for a long moment, before he said, softly, "I'm glad to see you. I was wondering how you've been, but I was unsure how to ask without being intrusive. I am sorry about that."

Mokuba was taken aback for a moment by Yami's blunt assessment of the situation, but was grateful he wouldn't have to trouble himself with evasive pretenses. It was just one character trait that Seto and he shared. Yami tilted his head to the side, peered up at Mokuba. "How have you been?"

Mokuba sighed, and let his shoulders rise and sag in a shrug that said so much more than words. "This has been the hardest three months I've lived through, Yami. Losing Seto..."he choked, forced the words out after a long breath to keep back the tears. Yami's face twisted in anguish and Mokuba was taken aback to see the tears rising to Yami's eyes for a brief moment before he blinked them back.

"I lost a friend who taught me more about life than anybody I've met, Mokuba. I can only imagine how much deeper your grief is, if I miss him this much."

Yami whispered the words as he sighed deeply, and raised his searing eyes back to Mokuba. "How have you been, Mokuba?

"Some days are better than others, but for the most part, they all suck." He gave Yami a wry, broken smirk, another tired shrug. "But I am getting my head on straight, so I guess things are slowly getting better. How about you?"

Yami nodded, before he gestured towards the bar stools by the counter. "Apparently, we both have a bit to discuss, correct?"

Mokuba only muttered a soft "thank you," as he latched his bootheels onto the lower rung of the stool, arranging his lanky limbs so he wouldn't slide off and grimaced as his knees flared out like grasshopper's legs at each side. All six foot three Kaiba inches didn't fit so well on such a small chair.

Mokuba watched as Yami pivoted on a heel and deftly pulled out two plastic cups. Pausing by the drink machine, he turned to Mokuba. Over his shoulder, Yami asked, "Do you want anything?"

"Diet Coke, please." Yami filled Mokuba's cup and his own , set them both down, and crossed back behind the counter to face Mokuba. Mokuba uneasily noted that he was now on eye level with Yami.

Skipping the usual useless blather, Mokuba bluntly began, "I know that my coming here is a suprise, Yami....."

Yami only shook his head."Truth be told, Mokuba, I've been wondering how you've been. But after a few attempts at a phone call, I assumed that you needed time to yourself to heal, and then you'd just...tell me."

Mokuba flushed at the slight reproach in Yami's voice. Ever since the funeral, and the intrusive, never ending stream of well-wishers, gossip mongers, press inquiries, Mokuba was hardly in the mood to be social and at one point was so irritated by the onslaught of the press, he gave them the bird and turned on the front lawn's elaborate irrigation system. It heartened him mightily to see the reporters fleeing as they were pelted by the drops.

In those dwindling months of Seto's life, Yami had relunctantly answered Seto's summons with the attitude of meeting an obligation, however unwillingly. It was hardly suprising that Yami and Seto, despite the grave circumstances, had snarled back and forth, and despite that, became friends. Yami had emerged as a suprisingly perceptive confidant, able to match Seto's wit, and refused to treat Seto as a dying victim, but as an equal worthy of respect. Mokuba had spent some time puzzling together the strange alliance between Seto and Yami. When questioned about it, Seto only shrugged, and said, "He's the only besides you that knows me at all, Mokuba, and doesn't hassle me about it. I didn't say it makes sense, little brother, all I know is that it works."

And it did. For nearly a year, Yami had borne Seto's grief in many, many deep conversations, put up with Seto's temper, and goaded Seto into seeing the truth more times than Yami would ever mention. And Yami had won Mokuba's respect with that infinite patiences during Seto's struggles, spoke nothing of Seto's pain to anybody, locked whatever transpired in those sacred intervals between the brothers deeper than a vault. There was no fear of Yami speaking to the press.

And Mokuba had been so caught up with his own misery, that Yami had been completely forgotten in the turmoil of trying to claw his way out of the bottomless grief. Mokuba was guilt-stricken at that realization,as he contritely began, "I'm sorry about that, Yami. I know that 'thank-you' is a pitiful thing to say after all you did for Seto and me."

Yami took a long sip of his glass, bowed his head. "I did nothing for Seto but listen to him on occasion, Mokuba. If that made things easier for him, then *he* was doing *me* the favor."

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at that, the snicker sounding almost like breaking glass between them. "I love my brother, Yami, but he was hardly easy to put up with. I *know.*"

Yami flinched in understanding, and shrugged, the silence a bit more comfortable now as Mokuba only sipped his drink and seemed content to say nothing more for a bit.

Yami had spent the last three months navigating the bewildering shock of loss himself, though

he had not voiced it to anybody. Aside from Mokuba, and Yugi, he was certain that it was unknown to the rest of the world how deeply Seto's death had affected him. Yami only wept

after the last moments when he heard Seto's dying breath and heard Mokuba's disbelieving sob.

He was stoic and regal and detached at the funeral, sitting beside Mokuba and watching dry-eyed and seemingly indifferent though Seto's corpse was less than six feet away and lowered into the ground with all the lack of ceremony that Seto so desperately wanted.

"Let them remember *me* and screw what happens to my remains." Those words had been snarled out by Seto in a rare moment when his self control was broken under the strain of

the dying. Yami had been silent, then, as well, only shaking his head and letting it be.

He had seen how Seto had lived, and watched him die, without the hysterics, without the weeping, without even outward acknowledgement that he had lost something as well. And when it was all over with, in the privacy of his own bedroom, Yami let his tears go for hours, unknown, and held Seto's memories as an unspoken gift, and visited the grave when he felt the need to purge them. But, aside from admitting to Yugi that he did indeed consider Seto a friend, there was no words, no truth that Yami could really voice about it.


	4. Solace

It was not the silence, but the emptiness that threatened to spill over to tears as Yami raised an aggitated hand and clawed his bangs back from his forehead. Sighing, Yami shut his eyes, and uneasily smiled politely at Mokuba, before he took a distancing sip of his drink and gestured for Mokuba to continue.

Mokuba sighed as well, gently set the glass down, and then, looked directly into Yami's eyes. "I'm sorry, Yami. I didn't just come here to purge my soul, I just...." Mokuba's shoulder hitched in apology, as he gave Yami a trembling, broken smile. "I know that you lost somebody too,Yami." Yami tensed, blinking back the sudden wet that blurred his vision. Mokuba uneasily bit his lip, hesitating before he continued,softly.  
"I didn't think that you knew this, Yami, but there were only three people in the world that Seto felt safe enough to openly discuss his illness with. Out of everybody that knew him, Yami, there was only three. Roland, me....and you."

The last words were little more than breath as Mokuba paused for a moment, to allow the depth of his announcement to sink in. Yami's flinch was bone deep when he felt Mokuba's hand gently clap over his shoulder, linger, and then fall. There were long moments of silence as Yami blinked furiously, and bowed his head. Mokuba only shook his head, gave Yami a soft, sad smirk.

Yami's shoulders hitched in answer, he was unable to speak. Mokuba nodded in understanding, as he sat back down so he could look into Yami's eyes. Mokuba trailed off, before forcing himself to continue.  
"Yami, the two hardest things for my brother to say was that he was sorry, and that he was wrong. That's why he wanted you to come, Yami. To tell you that he was sorry for the rivalry and the snide remarks, and basically being a pompous ass for so long. He...didn't want to leave without letting you know that."

There was nothing but that long, long pause as Yami swallowed down the sudden tightness in his throat.  
Calmly, he lay his palms down against the table, drew two breaths, steadied himself against the sudden onslaught of thoughts that fell like an avalanche.

"Did he know that, Mokuba?" Yami's fists clenched against the glass, as he braced himself for the answer.

Mokuba's answer was slow, and laced with compassion, as he tilted himself forward, and sighed. "Yami." Mokuba said gently, "I know that Seto struggled so much to come to grips with his own ending. I know that he struggled with things that I can't even begin to fathom, and it was hard as hell for me to watch my brother suffer through all of that. Even now, knowing that his pain is over with, and that he's at peace.  
it still keeps me up at night....remembering. " Mokuba paused for strength as he bit his lip.

"It was hard for Seto, Yami. It was so...damn...hard." His voice trembled off into another hitched breath.  
"But, it would have been impossible for him, and me, to go through that, without your help. Please, don't treat all that you did for him as if it were a casual chat, or dismiss it. Yami, you were there for Seto when nobody else was, and you helped him in ways that nobody else could have done. I wanted you to know that. More importantly, I promised Seto that I'd let you know that as well."

Mokuba uneasily placed the envelope on the counter between them, and watched Yami's eyes widen to see his name scrolled out in Seto's unmistakable, elegant script.

"Seto asked me to give you this, Yami, with the full understanding that it's nothing less than a token of gratitude that you could probably use. I hope you don't mind, but I'd appreciate it if you opened it after I go."

Yami quirked an eyebrow at that, looked up at Mokuba, in suprise, but lay the envelope back down with an understanding nod. "You have my word."

Mokuba glanced up at the clock over their heads, and curled his lip at how much time had already passed.  
"There is one other thing, Yami." Mokuba pensively set his boot heels on the floor, and announced bluntly,  
"I'm leaving Domino."

Yami jerked at that, stared at Mokuba, and then, gave him a small, sad smile of acceptance.  
"May I ask why you're leaving?"

Mokuba shrugged, gestured towards the darkening sky outside, before he turned back to Yami, the tears rising again. "It's not just a matter of escape, Yami. The pain of losing my brother runs far, far too deep for me to run away from it. I can't ignore it, escape it, or pretend it doesn't exist. The only thing I can really do right now is learn to live with it. I don't know if it's going to be any easier to do that if I'm somewhere where I'm not quite so...haunted by the memories, but I have to try. Leaving Domino is going to be hard, Yami.  
But I know now it's impossible for me to stay."

Yami nodded, slowly. "And you do not intend to return, do you?"

Mokuba bit his lip, and shook his head. "I honestly don't know, Yami, if I'll ever be back. It's going to take me a long time to work through some things, and I know that if I'm ever going to live life again,...I have to accept that." Mokuba scowled up at the clock, made an apologetic gesture towards it.

"I'm sorry, Yami, but I need to get going if I'm going to catch my flight." Mokuba rose from the stool, stooped to gather up his things, as Yami quietly slid him a can of his favorite soda across the counter.

"One for the road?" Mokuba asked, as Yami shook his head,wryly. "One for the journey, Mokuba. "

Mokuba grinned, slid the can into the pocket of his suitcase, but lingered in the doorway. Yami came out from behind the counter,  
and to Mokuba's suprise, took his hand, and clasped it between his own. Mokuba felt Yami's earnest, steady handshake of farewell.

"I wish you peace, Mokuba, in whichever form you find it." Yami stiffened in suprise when Mokuba embraced him. Mokuba stepped back, gave Yami a teary-eyed smile, and nodded. "Thank you, Yami. Thank you so much." Mokuba pivoted on a heel, turned towards the door, and waved. "I'll keep in touch, Yami. Take care."

And, with the jingle of the bells over the door, and a last smile, Mokuba was gone.

__________________________ 


	5. Parting Gifts

The bells were still swinging merrily from their cord, and Yami kept that smile until his cheeks ached, and he finally saw Mokuba's tall form gliding into the oblivion of the winter night. Mokuba had lingered a moment on the sidewalk, his eyes searing through the window as he raised one hand in farewell. Yami had only smiled, and nodded back, when Mokuba shrugged his coat higher on his shoulders, stomped the snow away from his bootheels, and disappeared. The loud clang of the doorbells seemed loudly out of place in the silence that followed. Yami shook his head, and whispered a quick prayer for Mokuba, that he would find some healing. Yami eyed the clock with distain, noted that there was still a considerable amount of time until closing hours. Considering the lack of customers, the brittle chill, and the late hour, he knew that Mr. Moto would not mind if he closed shop a bit early. Decision made, Yami busied himself with some mindless, but necessary puttering, sweeping up the floor hastily, arranging the last bit of cards in the display case.

Yami could not help but be grateful for the distraction. Mokuba's unexpected appearance, and departure, all the feelings and grief raised by his arrival, and then the stunning letter from Seto had unsettled Yami on a level deeper than he ever thought he would face again. Yami set the envelope carefully on the counter, ran his fingers over his name penned in Seto's flowing script, for a long moment, remembering the odd meeting that Seto had initiated almost a year ago.

_Fumbling for words, and not quite understanding their meanings, longing to flee because of his own discomfort, warring against his stern sense of obligation to do what was right._

_Yami's scowl deepened as he shifted uncomfortably against the plush seat beneath him, and he forced the snarl off his face when he saw Mokuba's wilting frown. Sighing, and shifting again, Yami watched as the mansion slid into view. His eyebrow shot high when the limo stopped and the door was flung open by the driver, who stood by with his hand proffered to help Yami out of the car. Yami politely refused, forced himself forward, and found himself flanked by Mokuba, who attempted a reassuring smile. _

"_I know that this is awkward for you, Yami, and I never would have asked you to come if Seto hadn't asked for you. Thank you for coming."_

_Yami quirked an eyebrow at that, amazed that Mokuba could be troubled with his own pettiness after getting such devastating news of Seto actually dying._

_Dying. _

_The word hit like a blow, chilled in his gut, made him shiver in spite of himself, as he forced himself to follow Mokuba down those spiraling halls, and bloated opulence, deeper into Seto's domain. Seto dying. He understood, but could not accept it._

_On a more selfish level was why Seto had wanted to see him after the diagnosis of the cancer. It was so surreal to Yami to have Mokuba gently wave him onward to the office door, hear Seto's silken snarl rasp from behind the oak wood, and then the door actually open to see Seto seated at that desk in that plush chair, looking for all the world like he owned the world itself…._

_Yami expected nothing less than a dismissing sneer, maybe a tongue-lashing for intruding on Seto's time, maybe even Seto's cackling at Yami being duped into believing that the infallible Seto could do something so human as last thing that Yami ever expected was that terse, nervous greeting, bitten off as Seto waved a hand vaguely over to the direction of the chairs put out for him, invited him to have a seat or leave, which ever was Yami's pleasure. That conversation has been tense, uncomfortable, and completely free of the distancing sarcasm for both of them. _

(Author's note: Again, I don't want to just rehash material from ATEOAT. If you want to know what the first conversation between Yami and Seto was, it's the third chapter, The Grace of Scars in the End of All Things. However, it's not necessary to read The TEOAT to understand the gist of this story, nor is that a plug.)

_It had been the first of many conversations over the last year of Seto's life, moments in time that somehow etched themselves into Yami's soul, a life-long change, soul-deep change that would stay with Yami until the day that he, too, went the way of Seto. _

Yami shook himself out of the stupor, ran a tired hand through his spikes, as he glanced around the store again. It was a hasty clean-up, but acceptable. His last tasks for the day completed, Yami flicked the switch to the neon-window sign to off.

The darkness and solitude of that winter night was only deepened by the abysmal bone-colored sky, and the silence of the falling snow that was already piling up against the window. Yami sat back down on the barstool, and opened the envelope gently. There were several pieces of paper, neatly folded flat, and creased perfectly into a compact bundle. Yami unfolded them and smoothed them flat. All of the paper was the official business stationary of KaibaCorps, a light shade of blue, with the KC logo embossed on top, though some of the sheets were typed, and a few were hand-written in Seto's pristine script.

_Yami-_

_If Mokuba has followed my wishes as well as I know he has, you will be reading this sometime after my departure. I left it to Mokuba's judgment when you would receive this, and if the timing was wrong, please forgive him. He may be a Kaiba, but he's not exactly well-known for his ability to do things on time._

Yami smirked at that, and read on.

_There really are no words invented yet that can convey all that I'm hoping to say with something so inadequate as pen and paper. Nor is there any real way for me to tell you how searing the acknowledgment of my own demise has been over these last few months. Death does have a way of brutally clarifying what is worth doing with my remaining time. And, yet, I am not going to waste paper in melancholy wondering of what might have been. I don't need to, as you were the witness to my darkest moments, and a friend who bore my pain in ways that nobody else will ever see, or even know. A year ago, if anybody had suggested that we would not only find some common ground, but became close, I would have sneered at the very thought. It was so bitterly simple back then, at one time, I was a pompous ass, and considered you beneath me._

_Dying, for better or worse, has a very odd way of calling attention to several things that I could have happily ignored, had I the time and the license for it. My treatment of you over the years was appalling, and I hope that you can forgive me for that. It was wrong…and your compassion towards Mokuba and myself over this past year has shown me how very wrong I was. Your understanding and tolerance of my less than pristine moments has only emphasized that point._

_Yami, I honestly didn't know what to think after that first conversation we had about my illness, though I will never forget it. Excuse my rudeness; I was expecting nothing less than a sneer, and our usual sarcasm, maybe a few snipes at each other, and then a neat closure. I honestly contacted you with the intentions of apologizing, of trying to clear up the bitterness over the years, maybe to atone for some of my guilt in mistreating you for no real reason that I could ever name. Apologizing, for me, was as foreign as flapping my arms and trying to fly, I didn't know how to do it, and in the end, I found that I couldn't. It would have been easier if you had walked away, Yami. I would have known how to deal with that dismissal so much better than your acceptance of a situation that I couldn't even bear at the time….._

_And then, to complicate things, you actually came back, again, and helped me understand what I couldn't see for myself…that my time left was a gift, and worth the struggle to find some solace, salvage a legacy for Mokuba, and most of all…make my peace with my own death. I spent so much time rooted in this world, and this life, that I never gave any thought to the fact that I would leave it one day, until I was diagnosed. And finding meaning in the suffering was worth the suffering, Yami. I wouldn't trade the grace and the forgiveness that I've finally found for meaningless years. I never thought that I would ever use the expression 'by the grace of God' and mean it, but to have found that was worth it. It was all worth it, Yami._

_I know that there's truly nothing I can do to repay you for being there, nor will I ever understand your motives. All I can do is accept that you've proven yourself to be a friend, and leave it at that. I don't know why you would willingly burden yourself with so much loss, or why you endured all that you did on my behalf, but I hope in some small way, it was worth it to you as well._

_I am enclosing a small token of my appreciation for all you've done for me in these very uncertain times. I know that it is woefully inadequate, but I trust that you and your family will put it to good use. I've found my peace, Yami. I only pray that you find yours._

_Seto._

Yami did not bother to stop the tears as he finished reading the letter. Reading those words, he could hear the echo of Seto's voice, the searing ache of bittersweet realization that coiled in his gut. Seto had left the world in peace, met the Almighty shortly after, and somehow had the foresight to give Yami this parting gift. Carefully wiping the wet from his fingers, Yami set the letter back down, and watched as the small, rectangular shaped paper fluttered to the floor like a butterfly. Yami stooped to pick it up, and almost dropped in dismay. It was a check directly from KaibaCorps payroll, and the amount written on it was staggering.


	6. Brothers

there's a brightness to the morning, when i heard the birds and their singing-  
a soft, sweet ray of light, rising, falling, bringing-  
a breath of a moment, on wayward wings, that would send my heart yet soaring to finally release this bitter ache of grief, the lost, the broken, imploring-  
i walked a mile to this broken hill, found my pathway through the dark to where they say the river runs, deep enough to set me free-  
this longing ache, that may break my heart-  
will it bring you back to me?  
but, yet, to cast away the heaven's renown and cast your light back in mortal shell-  
would be too cruel a thing to ever be-  
so, in parting tears, i leave, the fiery grief in these frail ties that mortals must bear and intwined between the life and the light mayhaps, i'll find you there.

despite the early hour and the bitter winter chill, the airport was full of throngs of people, rushing around, toting suitcases, and wailing children and whatnot. mokuba had dodged a couple of luggage carts with a grimace, grateful that he had already seen that his few belongings were already secured. he had taken little, anyway, his favorite outfits, seto's worn journal, the battered locket he always wore, his labtop, stationary, pocket bible. his cellphone, cash, and credit cards were tucked into the denim pockets of his jacket, his plane ticket clenched in his fists as he mentally checked off all the final tasks that needed to be done before boarding the plane. he grimaced at his watch, and flopped into the plastic cushioned chair with a huff of annoyance. in his haste to make sure that he would catch his flight, he had arrived almost three hours ahead of schedule, and had nothing to entertain himself but musing over the reasons why he was leaving, and how final the whole thing seemed to be.

he sighed and hoisted his labtop nearer to his knees, leery of it being stomped on by a careless foot. he picked up a glossy magazine, glanced through it, put it back, indifferently. he watched the crowds of people as they all went their ways, like so many ants on a hill, and shook his head at the thought. to be alone, when surrounded by so many, to see so many faces glance and walk on by....mokuba felt like a ghost, as he bit his lip, and squelched the tears again. the only solace for that was that he could not blink them back instead of howling like a gutted animal. it wasn't much progress, but at least he was no longer suffering that spasmodic choak of sobs clogged by a throat that couldn't cry any more.

he sniffled, and wiped his nose on a tissue, dabbed away the wet from his eyes, and tossed in a trash can.  
he hadn't expected leaving to be easy. he just didn't expect to be this hard, still. and, now, he was leaving the refuge of the kaiba mansion, the familiarity of the only home he had ever had, and all the memories behind in one breaking, cataclysmic farewell.

his hands groped at seto's picture, his resolve was crumbling. all it would take was a simple phone call to roland to bring him back, a few steps away from the terminal, a surrender. mokuba was torn by indecision,  
miserably staring at the sunrise, his legs braced against the chair as if he were going to bolt from it, or remain cemented and unmoving.

the onslaught of torment was abruptly interrupted by somebody speaking his name. mokuba jerked with suprise, and craned his neck in disbelief to see joey wheeler standing a few feet away. wheeler's hands were jammed deep into his jean pockets, his head tilted uncertainly as he carefully guaged mokuba's reaction.

mokuba managed to close his mouth, squinting in confusion, and mouthing, "joey?"

wheeler broke into an easy grin, jammed a thumb against his tee-shirt. "da one and only. what are ya doin' here, anyway? everything alright?"

mokuba looked absolutely stricken as he hastily gestured towards his little heap of belongings. "i'm....fine."

joey's grin melted into a scowl of concern, as he gave mokuba a long look. sighing, he shrugged, and ventured, "how ya been?"

mokuba could not stop the irritated snarl. "i'm *fine*, joey."

joey flung his hands up in a placating gesture, backed away. "sorry! just checkin,' mokuba. it's been a while since i've seen ya around and i didn't want ta pry." mokuba squinted at that, sighed and shook his head with a shrug.

"i'm sorry." the words were curt as he uneasily crossed his arms and fixed joey with a wary glare. "joey, i know that you mean well, but if you came over here to express your condolances, or ask me how life has been since seto died, or any mention of seto-" mokuba choked at his brother's name, and forced himself to continue before he started crying again, "please *don't*."

joey looked as if mokuba had slapped him, for a moment, before he sighed and nodded, the compassion warming his brown eyes. "i guess ya get a lot of that over the last few months, huh?"  
the answer was confirmed by mokuba's grimace.

joey took a long look at the last kaiba, and shuddered inwardly. he was hardly considered to be brilliant in his assement of people, but grief had changed mokuba. mokuba had aged a life time in three months, and it showed, from that weary, resigned slump in the seat, to that forced patience. he looked scraped raw and spent and weary from life itself.

mokuba gave him a curt nod, and said nothing for awkward moments, waiting to see if joey was going on his way, or staying. he could not stop the irritated huff as joey hesitated, and then slid into the seat across from him. joey popped back up as if kicked. mokuba could only scrub the bangs out of his eyes and tuck the dark hair behind his ear.  
pretending a polite calm he did not feel, mokuba tilted his head to joey. "what are you doing here, anyway?" he was genuinely curious. joey gave him a sad little smirk as he fluttered a hand vaguely to the runway behind him.

"seeing my little sis, serenity off. she's flying back home."

mokuba said nothing for a long moment. he could count on one hand how many times he had met serenity wheeler, but he knew that the wheeler siblings were extremely close. he saw it in joey's face when he spoke her name, that love and protective pride of an older brother. mokuba nodded with understanding.

mokuba hitched his shoulders apologetically. "i'm sorry for being rude, joey. i just wasn't expecting anybody that i knew to be here."

joey gave him an easy grin, shrugged away any lingering insult with that casual forgiveness that he lavished on everybody. "aww, don't worry about it. i don't take anything personal, ya know dat."

joey shrugged, and continued, softly, cautiously, "i'm sorry, too, mokuba. i know ya've been through a lot, and i ain't trying to add to your troubles."

mokuba shook his head, with a bitter smile. "i honestly don't see how you could possibly add to my troubles, joey. i don't see how anything could make this worse."

joey flinched, and sat back down, peered at him. "ya know there was a time when i never thought i would see my little sis again?"

mokuba's eyes locked with his, his eyebrows crinkling. "yeah? what happened?"

joey ran a hand through the mop of mussed gold bangs. "things....weren't ever right between mom and dad. growing up, they fought like cats and dogs, and when they weren't screamin' at each other, they wouldn't talk to each other for days. one day, mom had enough, packed her stuff, and serenity...and just left." joey's voice trailed off, as he swallowed back the sudden boulder in his throat. mokuba tactfully ignored the shimmer of tears as joey hitched a shoulder.

"i didn't hear from them for 5 years. five years, of never knowing if my sis was okay, if she was happy, if she was safe....that's a long time." mokuba nodded as joey waved a hand in the silence.

"then, she came back...after all those years, and ya know what? we just stared at each other, not really knowing what to do...it *hurt* to see that she had changed, and lived a lot of life while i just sorta hung onto the memories, and never got over the leavin' part."

joey looked at mokuba, slowly putting his palms to his knees as if to brace himself before he continued.  
"but ya know what? in the end, it didn't matter. it didn't matter that she had changed, or that we spent all that time apart. she's my little sis. i'll always love her, and that was the one thing that never changed at all."

joey rose to his feet. lingering, he clapped a hand over mokuba's shoulder.  
"see, mokuba....big brothers...they don't stop loving their siblings. they may be far away, they may not be where you are, but that doesn't mean they ever, ever let go."

joey gave mokuba a gentle smirk as he gestured vaguely towards the ceiling. "besides,...there was nobody more stubborn than your brother and there was nobody that he loved more than you." 


	7. Unexpected Angel

The accent may have mangled the words, but the meaning behind them brought more tears to his eyes as Mokuba shifted uncomfortably, and

hastily turned away. Joey flushed awkwardly, waved an apologetic hand. "Geeze, I'm sorry! I didn't mean ta make it worse, Mokuba..." his

voice trailed off when Mokuba balled his fists and shook his head, frantically. Joey mistook it for embarrassement, and could only

stammer out another attempt at an apology as Mokuba finally inhaled enough air to answer.

"Joey-" His voice was breathless and raw with the emotions that he could barely fight, or contain, yet again, as he gestured for Joey to sit

back down. Uneasily, Joey slid into the seat next to him, looking like he was ready to bolt. Mokuba swallowed hard, and for the first time,

gave Joey a small, pensive frown.

"Joey." His name was whispered as Mokuba raised a considering eyebrow. After a long stare of uncomfortable silence, Mokuba finally worked

up enough courage to ask what had been gnawing at him for a while. "Joey, can I ask you something? I don't mean to make this any more....

uncomfortable for either one of us, but since you're here, and I may not get the chance again.."

Joey warily shifted, sat back as he crossed his arms. "Ya can ask. Seems to me like this might be a bit personal." Mokuba nodded, grimly, as

he straightened up. He hid the smirk when he saw that he was tall enough now to look down his nose at Joey. Joey was tapping a finger against his

knee, clearly waiting for the odd turn in conversation as Mokuba glanced away, groping for the right words.

"Joey, I know that you and Seto had....your differences in the past." Joey snorted at that, but looked contrite at Mokuba's scowl.

"I never understood why it was so...difficult for both of you to get along."

Joey squinted at that, and slumped back with a shrug, and a long, weary sigh. Working the inside of his cheek between his teeth, he could only raise hands in another helpless gesture. "I...dunno." He ran a figiting hand through his blonde bangs, and let them curtain over his eyes, before he continued, haltingly.

"I ain't gonna say anything bad about your brother, Mokuba. 's nothing really _to_ say. There wasn't exactly any one thing bad between us, not anything he or I did....it was just _us. _And it was that way for years, and I guess....by the time that we finally worked things out enough to be civil....there wasn't really any time left for us to get beyond that....sorry...."

Mokuba gave him a tired smirk. "So it was just a personality conflict, and not necessarily anything either one of you did?"

Joey hitched a shoulder in confirmation, as he tapped himself on the chest. "Actually......"

Italics are a memory sequence....sorry for the confusion, if there is any. The memory sequence is what Joey is telling Mokuba.

_The boy's bathroom in Domino High was a tiled hell of shining linoleum, white toilets, leaking facets and stench. Seto despised using it, felt unclean even entering the metal door, but it was a necessity today, and would be an even bigger problem if not attended to. Hastily scanning the long row of stalls, and grateful to find them empty, he marched to the one secluded on the end and locked the door. He was ready to wash his hands and leave and grimaced at the unwelcome sound of sneakers squealing across the floor as a sizable group of boys ambled into the restroom. Seto's scowl deepened when he saw the group of shoes park in front of his stall door, and the carefree snipes of a small crowd at ease, and no intention of leaving. He was about to simply exit the stall when he heard the horrific sound of somebody being slammed into the brick wall flush from his door, and the agonized grunt of pain. His scowl crumbled when he saw a pair of jean covered legs slide over the tiles in a heap, and then another thud as somebody was hauled to their feet and hurled against the wall again._

_Seto counted at least three pairs of feet as he sighed, wondering if it were more prudent to stay parked or open the door and potentially esculate the situation before him. He heard the whimpered words, "Please, don't," the harsh snickers peppering the small crowd, and then the dull thud again, another cry of pain._

_Lip twisting in his teeth, Seto's bootheel sent the stall door swinging open with a sound like a gunshot as he strode out of the stall, and scowled at the clump of teen-agers in a mean, little ring, hunched over Yugi Moto. All of them gaped at Seto in disbelief, and Seto's eyes only narrowed as he tilted his head. He heard the biting, cruel chuckle as he glided over to the sink, raised an eyebrow, and turned over his shoulder._

_"Maybe my mathamatics are a bit off, but since when does it take two of you to beat up a helpless runt?" His voice had slid to frigid ice as he slowly washed his hands, and glared._

_  
"Move along, rich boy. It's not any of your concern." The sneer was chortled out, and met with another barking round of laughter. Seto only met them with a raised eyebrow, and a snarl._

_"I beg to differ." _

_Yugi's eyes bulged, as he whimpered out Seto's name, with a plea, "Seto...it's not any of your concern, please, don't-"_

_Yugi's disgusting blathering was cut off when one of the boys swung at Seto with a snort. The burble of laughter was abruptly choked from him when Seto artfully dodged the fist, inhaled sharply. Seto grit his teeth, pivoted away. He seized two fistfuls of flesh and jacket collar of the one who tried to belt him, hoisted him high, and slammed him hard into the wall. Seto fought the wince as he felt the force of it reverberating through his arms._

_The boy shuddered from the impact, eyes white and terrified as Seto only cocked his head to the side, and then grimaced and released his grip._

_The boy slid to the floor, not too far from Yugi, and scrambled to his feet, with a panicked glance to his cronies. Seto only raised a challenging eyebrow, in silence as he stared them down. He turned to the boy's gaping companion. "I suggest you take your garbage and leave."_

_The boy eyed him with a sneer, but slunk away, kneeling to help his friend limp out of the bathroom, both of them glaring and hurling insults that Seto did not trouble himself to reply to._

_Seto heard Yugi's soft voice stating his name in disbelief, and he turned to see the runt on the floor, books knocked eskew, and shaking. Seto scowled down at him, puzzled and clearly irritated as he relunctantly ground out, "They're gone, runt. It's safe. You can go." _

_Yugi gulped and nodded, as he drew in a shaking breath, and slowly stood up. "I can't believe that you...just did that."_

_Seto shook his head, scornfully as he shrugged. "I can't believe it either."_

_Yugi just dipped his head as he stooped to gather his things, and rearrange them back into his bag. "Thank you, Seto. Thank you so much."_

_Seto grunted at that. "Don't mention this...ever."_

_Both of them were startled when the door flew open and Joey Wheeler came storming in like a rampaging bull, fists balled, head down, glare fixed on Seto like a target. He took one look at Yugi, bloodied in a teary heap on the floor, then at Seto's raised hand and cocky smirk. He bellowed as he reached the wrong conclusion, and belted Seto flush in the mouth. He heard Yugi's shrill cry, Seto's hiss of pain, and saw Yugi rise from the floor,_

_small hands raised as he shielded Seto from any more blows, frantically waving his arms._

_"Stop! Joey!!! Seto didn't do this!" The blond turned to Yugi, his jaw falling open in puzzlement. "Eh? Yug, what are you talking about?"_

_Yugi swallowed hard, and fought to make himself understood. "Joey...Seto didn't hit me. He-"_

_Yugi's words were cut off by Seto's sharp glare and a forbidding shake of his head. "I told you, runt, not to mention it."_

_Yugi squirmed under the unbearable weight of those icy eyes, and gulped. "But, Seto, why-"_

_Seto only shrugged, tiredly, as he continued to glare in silence. Yugi skittered backwards, and swallowed again, hastily throwing his books and whatnot into his bag. Flushed with embarrassement and confusion, he awkwardly rose. Joey did not see Seto's curled lip, or the sharp jerk of his head towards the door. Yugi only nodded, muttered another thank you, and bolted from the restroom, ignoring Joey's questions with a pleading shake of his head._

_Joey was completely flummoxed as to what the hell was going on, and turned back to Seto, who was trembling with barely choked down anger, and_

_huffing with irritation._

_"What the heck just happened, here, Seto? Ya __**didn't**__ hit Yugi?"_

_There was only aggrivating silence as Seto just shook his head with a grimace and turned away. Joey barely heard Seto's snarl._

_"No." It was spat out with rancor, as Seto straightened his trench coat with a harsher than necessary jerk. He stepped away from Joey, shaking his head._

_It was never meant to go near as far as it did and the esculation of the cruelty was now falling down on him like an avalanche. Joey's smirk crumbled into miserable contemplation as Seto's searing eyes trailed upwards to meet his as he dabbed a distainful hand to his busted lip. Seto dangled his_

_bloodied knuckles before his narrowing eyes, sighed with disgust, and turned the facet on to wash it away. Joey noticed with rapidly surging guilt that Seto's shoulders were tremoring as he scrubbed his hands and face furiously, as if attempting to wash away the filth and the pain of what had just happened. Seto said nothing, just kept plunging hands into the water and rubbing his face until his hair was damp and his skin and eyes were scraped raw. After a long, measured breath, Seto turned the water off, slowly ripped paper towels down, and dabbed his face, and carefully dried his hands, all the while, his eyes locked with Joey's with that deep, baleful stare._

_"Do you really think I'd be such a prick as to hit the runt, Wheeler?" The words were hissed out through his clenched teeth, and Joey could not stop the flinch as Seto's eyes slid up to his._

_Joey could only shrug, put a shaking palm against the stall door, and stare back. " What the hell am I supposed to think, Kaiba? I come in here, he's laying on the floor, ya got your fist up-"_

_"I didn't hit Yugi." The words were as heavy as boulders that Seto could have hurled at him, as he rose, and shrugged the trench coat back over his shoulders. Seto gave him a disgusted look, as he shook his head, and strode out of the bathroom. He lingered in the doorway, turned back to stare down Joey one more time, as he whispered, "I woudn't hit him. Ever. Can't you see that?!"_

_Seto shoved the door open without a backwards glance, leaving Joey to gape after his retreating back._

_It was sad, looking back. Aside from his condensending attitude, that cold, distancing snarl, and the general comtempt that Seto seemed to have for the world,....there was hardly anything that Joey could imagine, dredge up in memory, or even construct that would justify where his loathing for Seto came from. Yugi had spilled out the true account of what had happened that night, over chips and drinks as the two friends lounged in the small living room and attempted to study, with the tv blaring. Joey could only shake his head in disbelief, as Yugi recounted the incident with wide-eyed wonder, and Yami could only grunt and smirk with a knowing shake of his head._

_Joey was left with floundering uncertainty that maybe the bastard he had constructed Seto to be in the largess of his own mind might not have been the reality of the man himself, and it bothered him immensely. Indeed, there was little evidence that the accusations regularly hurled at Seto as he glided through the halls and clutched his infernal suitcase that he even deserved the ire of the world. Seto Kaiba was accused of being a snob, considering himself too 'holy' to be bothered with the affairs of the unwashed masses. He was considered a rich prick for his enormous wealth, a vicious coniver for his perfect grades, and an all-around jerk for everything else._

_And, yet...._

_Yugi spilled out the odd tale of Seto actually intervening on his behalf. Joey winced in regret when he remembered the vicious fist he had put in Seto's face, remembered that agonizing moment when Seto only glared at him with those empty eyes and waited for the world to fall down when he_

_struck back._

_And Joey stood there in confusion when Seto didn't. There were other fragmented moments over the years....Mokuba and Yugi had become closer over time, and it was not too unusual for Mokuba to hang out at the Moto's residence. Everybody knew of the tormented past that both of the Kaibas had emerged from, from Gozaburo's plunge off the Kaiba tower, the deaths of their parents, and all the trappings of the ever-present money. Mokuba had emerged from what seemed to be either a fairytale, or a horror story, depending on the brother, with a glib, genuine warmth and a bright cheer that was unscathed from all he had been through. In brutal contrast to Mokuba's happiness, was Seto's ever present scowl, and indifference to all but his company and his brother. Joey had to wrap his head around the disconcerting thought that Seto probably bore the brunt of parenting duties since Gozaburo's death so long ago. Joey could not remember the last time that any of their fellow classmates had even bothered to grace Seto with any regard besides the typical high school scorn, and he could not remember any time at all he had even been polite to the distant Kaiba._

_Seto seemed to prefer to be ignored, left alone, his life uncluttered by the teen-age angst and rites of passage like prom, and hanging out and friends. It was very sad, indeed._

"Truth be told, Mokuba, I think it was mostly one-sided. Sure, Seto and I weren't bosom buddies or nuthin' like that, but...I think we could have gotten along a lot better if I had just been less of a jerk and more of a man back then. I never could understand why da heck he didn't pound my face in after Yugi left that day. Never forgot it, either."

Joey hitched a shoulder in apology.


	8. Cleo

Mokuba could stop the tears from falling, but not the strange, sudden wet that blurred the world at Joey's story. He blinked furiously for a moment, sat back with a silent chuckle of bittersweet amusement. Joey stiffened leerily, mouth open to apologize for causing more distress, and shut it when he saw Mokuba's sad little smile.

"I'm not suprised, at all, Joey. My brother worked hard to hide it, but he was a real soft touch." Joey raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that, and Mokuba smiled again at more pleasant memories. "I remember when I was a little kid, I used to drive him crazy with my demands for a pet. I wanted a puppy. Seto always refused. He said that they were messy, and filthy, and he didn't have the time or inclination to pay more people to clean up 'dog droppings in my home.'" Mokuba lowered his voice and did an admirable imitation of Seto's scowl and voice. Joey crinkled his forehead at the thought.

"Yeah? Thought he hated dogs. He was always calling me one."

Mokuba shrugged at that, and continued,"I always thought that if I was going to get a dog, it would be some pure-bred animal with a lot of pedigree. I mean, the idea of Seto waltzing down to the city shelter and picking out a stray just doesn't really sound like something my big brother would do, right?"

Joey snorted at that.

Memory sequence........

The biting chill of the winter day had left the sky the color of bone, and the ground brittle. Seto shivered in his trenchcoat, buttoned it even higher and gave the sky a scathing glare. The weather reports were predicting a freezing rain, turning to ice in a few hours. Seto hoisted his laptop high, and unlocked the car door as he stomped the snow off his boots and neatly deposited his case in the floor of the front seat. Looking forward to the warmth of the heated seat, he allowed himself a rare moment to gather his thoughts before preparing to drive off.

He shut the door, turned the key and slid out of the parking lot with a grimace as the weather report continued its dreary predictions of even more cold weather. Mokuba, of course, would be ecstatic about school being cancelled. Seto's head already throbbed at the thought of his little brother's exuberance and being iced in. He loved his brother, but sometimes he could be irritating.

His cheery thoughts continued as he drove away, debating if he would have to cancel his meetings, or make Mokuba come along for them. He dismissed the thought after remembering one of Mokuba's antics involving a very expensive spill on a business associate's prized labtop, and the fury after the machine quit.  
It was the only time Seto could remember ever wanting to spank Mokuba.

He grit his teeth, frustrated, and forced himself to pay attention to the long drive home. Mercifully, there were few cars out and he could take his time. His wondering thoughts distracted him so much that he almost hit the sudden, small thing that darted out in front of the car. Cursing, Seto swerved instinctively, brought the car to a sharp halt, and scowled. His scowl deepened when he saw the pathetic sight from his rear view mirror.

A shivering, starving dog sat on the side of the road, a few feet away from his car, wagging her tail in greeting. Seto huffed in annoyance, and prepared to start the car, when he glanced back at the dog. She rose from her crouch, trotted over to the car door, and sat again, whining and wagging her tail. She was nothing more than a mutt, wiry hair and short black ears, dirty white body, her tongue hanging and her eyes shining. Seto's lip curled in distaste when he heard the gentle crackling of ice flecks hitting his windshield.

Seto sighed again, unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened the car door. Rolling his eyes skyward, he muttered, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

He put two fingers to his lips, gave a shrill whistle and waved an impatient hand towards the car. The dog bolted into his lap, tail wagging fiercely, and (to Seto's disgust) showering his hands with dog slobber. Seto distainfully set her down on the floor, hoping she wouldn't foul up the car, and drove the rest of the way home.

She yipped excitedly, bounced up and down over the leather seats, and managed to lick Seto's hand again as he pulled into the driveway. Awkwardly, Seto scooped up the squirming little mass of fur, grunted when she yipped. Seto raised an eyebrow, shook his head.

Mokuba was already home from school, lounging in a chair and watching cartoons. He grinned when he heard Seto set his keys down, and bolted into the common room to greet his brother, already babbling about school being cancelled and whatnot.

He stopped short when he saw Seto's dubious scowl, the puddle on his prized trenchcoat, and his hands holding a squirming puppy as if she were a bomb.

"Seto?" Seto grunted acknowledgment, and held the puppy out to him. "Here." Mokuba squealed in delight, snatched up the puppy with a grin and a hug, babbling out his gratitude. Seto interrupted his enthusiasm, gesturing towards the stain on his coat, "Be careful, the mutt peed on me."

Mokuba snorted at that, as Seto peeled away the soiled garment in disgust and flung it over a chair, folding his arms and regarding Mokuba carefully.

The puppy was already showering Mokuba with ample amounts of dog saliva, and Mokuba only laughed and cradled her closer. "Thank you, big brother!" Seto could not help the smile as Mokuba stared at him with adoration and love. "I'll take good care of her, I promise!"

The "mutt", as Seto labeled the little canine, went from being a cowering, shivering mongrel to Mokuba's beloved companion in a few short weeks. Mokuba named the dog Cleo, and insisted on allowing her to sleep in his room. Seto had professed only a begrudging tolerance of their new 'family member,' but he often fed her dog treats and occasionally scratched her behind her floppy black ears. Cleo loved Mokuba, greeted him with excited yipping and ran around in circles whenver he appeared. Mokuba loved Cleo, and Seto eventually learned to tolerate the little mutt's slobbery kisses and occasional accidents in the house.

________________________________________________________

Joey's eyes bulged wider and wider as Mokuba finished his tale, and swallowed back the gasp of astonishment. "Hnnn. Who knew that Seto was a dog person after all?" Mokuba shrugged, and leaned back. "Not many people did, Joey. Seto was never comfortable with people seeing that side of him..."

The announcement of the plane's arrival chimed over the intercom. Mokuba rose suddenly, and grabbed the handle of his carry-on.

Sighing, he turned to Joey. "That's my flight." He said it quietly, as he stood to face him, an uncertain look flickering between them as Joey nodded. It was tense and uncomfortable for a long moment, until Joey gave Mokuba a sad, understanding smile. He thrust out his hand, and Mokuba looked at it in suprise, before taking it, awkwardly. Joey shook it, and jerked his chin towards the runway.

"I hope ya find some happiness out there. Best of luck, Mokuba. I hope ya come back to Domino one day. Be seein' ya."

Mokuba nodded, as he gathered up his things. Pausing, he raised his hand in farewell, and gave Joey a wave and a nod. Joey nodded back, jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and left. 


	9. The Next Step

Mokuba groaned himself awake, wincing at the crick in his neck, and the stiffness of his back from falling asleep

in the seat. Despite the lush accomodations of the first class seating, being six foot three and dozing off at such an

unnatural angle had taken their toll. Mokuba rolled his shoulders, popped bones, and glanced at the dark sky outside his

window. The clouds, etched in silver from the glutted moon, shimmered over the abyss of emptiness

outside. Mokuba checked his watch, and scowled at the time. He had slept less than half of the flight before his next stop,

and was now facing the unpleasant boredom or falling prisoner to all the dark thoughts his trip was supposed to ease.

Sighing, Mokuba unbuckled his belt, thankful for having an empty row to himself as he carefully picked his way over the

narrow aisle and walked as unobtrusively as possible to the lavatory.

Locking the door behind him, he blinked owlishly at the mirror, raked the mop of black hair from his forehead, and splashed

cold water onto his face. He scrubbed away some of the tired ache, and his limbs were feeling a bit less stiff from his short

stroll. He scowled at the face at the mirror. His dark hair was in a disheveled knot from the hasty rubberband he had

tied it back with, his eyes were smeared with a dull resignation of grief, time had worked its anguish into that bitter line

that crowned his forehead. He was only 25, but he felt as if he had endured a lifetime. Grimacing, he untangled the rubberband,

and worked his comb through the knots until his hair was at least presentable. He washed his hands, and left the

bathroom, headed back to his seat.

Sighing, he peered at the window again, and leaned back in the seat, tilting it as far as it would go. Bleerily, he stared at

the sepia baggage compartment above him. It was not too shocking of a discovery that he was soon bored, and wide-awake.

Mokuba sighed again, and rose, fumbling in the dark for his carryon bag, and dragged the laptop down from the compartment.

As he was waiting for it to boot up, the flight attendant who was making her rounds paused at his seat, squinting and smiling

in the faint blue light of the KC screen-saver.

"Is there anything you need sir? Would you like a snack or a beverage?" Mokuba turned to her with a polite smile, and a nod.

"Could I have a diet Coke, with ice, please?" She nodded, thanked him for his order, and left as he turned his attention to

logging into his email. There was a quick note from Roland, keeping him informed of all that had transpired

in the few hours he had been gone, and paternal well-wishes that were both irritating and touching at the same time.

Mokuba quickly typed out reassurances that he was alright, an affirmation that Roland would be fine as keeper of KaibaCorps,

and he appreciated the concern. He scrolled through the rest of his inbox, and quirked an eyebrow to see that Yami had sent

an email as well. Mokuba read through the few, terse lines, almost sensing Yami's uncertainty at sending it.

_Mokuba-_

_I sincerely hope that this email is unobtrusive, and that you understand that my intent is not to wound by stirring up any_

_more memories or pain in its writing. I would like to thank you for telling me that I made a difference in your brother's life._

_The knowledge that I helped him through that dark time is gratifying, and I consider it the highest privledge that I was able_

_to be there for him. I sincerely wish you all the best in this life. May you find your solace, in whatever form it takes. You have a _

_good life left, and a bright future ahead of you. Seto would be very proud of you for embracing them. _

_Yami._

Mokuba shook his head, touched and suprised anew at Yami's kindness. Even now, Mokuba had trouble reconciling that distant, polite

veneer with that deep empathy and compassion that was so well-hidden. His thoughts were interrupted by the brightly smiling attendant who ducked her head shyly and presented him with the requested drink. Mokuba accepted politely, and turned back to

composing a reply to Yami when he noticed that the attendant was still lingering by his seat.

Mokuba arched an eyebrow, and turned to look at her. " Mayme?" She blushed at the polite inquiry. "Sir, I'm sorry to ask you this, but

I'm curious...." Her voice trailed off, as Mokuba tilted his head in confusion. "I hope that this isn't too personal, but are you one of the

_Kaiba_ brothers?" Mokuba's forehead crinkled at the awed way she whispered his last name, and smothered the irritation with a forced,

patient smile. "Yes, I am." He gave her a pointed look at his laptop as he took a distancing sip of his drink and waited for her to leave.

She was oblivious to his subtle hints. "Is your brother on this flight with you?"

Mokuba flinched, and snarled as he suddenly snatched his drink, furiously. He felt as if he had been punched in the gut as he waited

for the rage to disapate. He stopped the urge to fling the drink at her, but could not stop the slew of words that suddenly errupted. His voice was calm and chilled as he carefully set the glass down on the plastic tray.

"My brother died of cancer a little over three months ago, so, no, he's not on this flight. Is there anything else you want to know?" Her smile crumbled into awkward, contrite silence for a few moments as she paled and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Sir, I apologize. I didn't know, and I'm sorry. Please excuse me for being intrusive." She seemed almost on the verge of tears, and Mokuba bit his lip. He sincerely did not mean to be that blunt, or cruel. Running an uneasy hand through his bangs, he swallowed, and

peered up at her. "It's alright. Really, I understand that you didn't know...." He wearily trailed off, hoping that she wouldn't start bawling.

Maybe it was his odd sense of chivalry, or some warped instinct that Seto had graced him with, but he sincerely hated to see a weeping female. "I'm fine, miss. It's alright." She nodded, stiffly, and Mokuba gave her a reassuring smile before she finally moved on.

Mokuba heaved a sigh of relief, and bitterness.

He knew that KaibaCorps and Seto had world renown, but his own fame was mainly a by-product of his association with Seto, not through his own merit. Seto had always shouldered the burden of the spotlight, lived in its glare, and let Mokuba remain happily

hidden in its long shadow. Though there had been a few, sporadic moments of gawkers in public, and the occasional odd encounter with a weirdo, Mokuba was largely left alone. It was not unusual for KaibaCorps to be known. It was just strange for Mokuba to be

known with it.

His scowl deepened as he considered his reaction to the flight attendant, troubled. The grief was still there, still a dull ache that

sometimes ripped open into agony, sometimes throbbed, ignored, sometimes waxed and wanned, but never truly left. Mokuba

wearily sipped his drink. He had somehow groped through the numbed darkness that was left, and cobbled together a flimsy

shield against the pain and he was truly grateful to see that at long last, they hadn't completely collapsed. He didn't break down

into wailing sobs, and he didn't snap at the reminder of what was lost. It may have been achingly slow in coming, but he was gradually

'getting better.' Feeling an odd bit of hope, Mokuba turned back to the labtop, and re-read Yami's message, again, then began to type back a reply.

_Yami-_

_I know it's probably a bit of an abrupt reply, but I can assume you'll forgive me if I don't have anything substantial to report_

_but a rather embarrassing encounter with a starry-eyed flight attendant, and a dull nap over the ocean. Apparently, the_

_Kaiba name is well-known even across the ocean. Go figure. I thank you for your kind wishes about my 'good future,'_

_though I have yet to see how exactly that will come true. Don't get me wrong....I know that there's going to be a day, however_

_slow in coming, that I'll look back on all of this, and I won't feel like sobbing, and I won't feel the same, huge punch- to the_

_gut grief whenever somebody mentions my big brother's name. It's been three months, and I'm closer to that point._

_I know that I left you with a lot of unanswered questions about my decision to leave Domino, though you said nothing more _

_than what you considered kind and necessary._

_I'm also very glad to see that you seem to want to keep in touch. It's so good to have somebody who just *understands* what_

_it was like, what Seto was really like. It's nice to have somebody who understands all that happened without my having to _

_smile and explain, and endure another bout of reassuring people who knew nothing about Seto that I'm okay. I don't feel 'okay,'_

_though. I feel 'better,' I feel a bit closer to 'good,' but I don't ever feel okay. I don't know how I can go back to being that way_

_after everything has changed so much. And sometimes, I wonder, if it's not so much how my life has changed, but how deeply _

_I've been affected. And if it's me whose changed, where does that leave my hope for normalacy?_

_Yami, I know that you don't demand what you would consider an invasive explanation as to what my plans are after leaving Domino._

_It wasn't just a trial and error attempt to just get away from everything in Domino. I don't think I have to elaborate too much_

_on the fact that my grief follows me, and until it's dealt with and faced, it's going to consume me. I've found that I don't necessarily_

_need distraction, so much as I need some distance-literal distance-to figure out exactly what I want to do with myself, and _

_how to go about doing all the half-attempts and false starts, I've finally got a plan put into action. I've decided to start over._

_I've found a small town, that's placid, serene, where I can be easily ignored, and hopefully, start rebuilding my life. I've already_

_found a small apartment on the outskirts, set up my finances, and have already started a bit of a hopefully better existance there._

_I know, it sounds outlandish....but at least it's a beginning of something, and this is what I need. I hope that you understand that._

_Sincerely-_

_Mokuba K._


	10. Josephine

A/N: This chapter is a bit mundane, but the plot will be picking up soon, I hope....as for the chapter's ending, this is not a romance story, and will never be. Thank you.

Mokuba eyed the bare sepia walls of his new apartment, dubiously, and then at the carpet-stain-free, but an odd color, somewhere between beige and amber, with a shake of his head. It was a small, two-bedroom apartment on the end corner of the two story building, where he could hear the eerie creek of of the ceiling as his neighbors above him walked across their living room. There was a small, private porch from his bedroom that overlooked the massive tree-lined pond that was filled with Canadian geese that squawked on their morning dives into the water, a parking lot with two large dumpsters, flanked by another apartment building, and then, the sparse, broken concrete shred of road that led to the main drag of the small town. The small town was surrounded by the endless forest. It was an eerie sound to hear the chirp of crickets, and the occasional howl of a coyote. It was nothing like the constant roar of highways and humanity that Domino had been. Mokuba found the silence both cleansing, and frightening.

It had been a little over a week since Mokuba arrived to what he hoped would eventually be home. He had spent his first days doing little more than securing the essentials, establishing a residency, getting his power turned on, his Internet. He had bought a small, frill-free pickup so that he could drive where he needed, and haul furniture to his apartment as he made his exploratory trips to the local towns, and purchased what he needed for his new home. His living room, kitchenette, and one bedroom were the size of his old room.  
He was displeased with the box-like way his washer and dryer were stacked on top of each other, and he found it extremely difficult to understand the rural, wary watching of the 'locals' as he slowly pushed his shopping cart through the super-market's narrow aisles, and attempted to find food. It was almost like foraging, he realized. Before, food was lavishly prepared and presented by the plateful to his or Seto's specifications, or casually munched on as he used to run through their fully stocked, gleaming kitchen, usually populated by at least one house keeper. Mokuba now had to buy his own food, and cook it-something he was a bit frightened of. For the time being, he bought a few boxes of macaroni, some frozen dinners, a bag of apples, and a six pack of diet Coke. It wasn't much, but it would be enough for a few days.

He made his way back to his sparsely furnished apartment. He was content to have the bare essentials for the moment-a single bed that was mercifully long enough to accomodate his height, a tie-dyed quilt and pillows, with sheets, a small dining set, couch and a microwave, with a television. His only decor was a few cherished pictures of Seto, and a series of push-pins he used for an impromptu jewelry rack for his massive collection of hemp necklaces. He bought a small, wire and metal computer desk, and propped his laptop on it, and checked his email compulsively. Mokuba was unashamed to admit that he was an Internet addict.

Tonight, Mokuba was heating up a frozen dinner of a corndog and fries, while he idly flipped through the channels to pass the time. There was hardly anything on, but the soothing blare of sound made the night a bit less lonely, and kept his usual, obtrusive thoughts away. Drifting through life was hardly how he planned on spending the rest of it, and his heart ached when he pondered the unwelcome possibility that he had somehow brought all he was attempting to run from with him. He sighed wearily, and debated the merits of going to bed. It was late, but he wasn't tired, and he was hardly charmed at the idea of staring at the ceiling. He flipped through the channels again, not really paying attention to what was on them, lost in his thoughts. He drifted off, despite of them.

The morning light was searing, and his back ached from his awkward slump over the couch. Somehow he had fallen asleep on it, curled up in nearly fetal position as he blinked, and groaned himself awake, his dark hair falling in tangled knots. Mokuba slowly rose, rubbed his eyes, owlishly peered at the static and the humm of the television that had been left on all night.

Yawning and scowling at the late hour of the morning, and the growling of his stomach, Mokuba stared in disgust at the contents of the refrigerator, and decided to go into town to grab something to eat.  
After a short shower, he dried his sopping mop of hair, and dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and thick jacket.  
The morning was chilled for autumn, the sun bright, and the air bitingly crisp.

Mokuba pulled into the road-side cafe, a small mom and pop operation with a neon sign stating they were open. He was soon greeted, and seated by a harassed looking waitress, who almost shoved the plastic menu in his hand, and hastily scribbled down his request for hot tea, eggs, and toast before scurrying away to the next patrons. He leaned back, watching with little interest the morning assortment of office folks snatching coffee, loggers jawing at each other, harassed mothers attempting to soothe fussy babies in their high chairs. Mokuba was struck anew how alone he felt, surrounded by this conglomorate of humanity.

The waitress put down a steaming cup of tea, toast, and scrambled eggs, with an obligatory smile before she bustled away, slapping the ticket on the table. Mokuba left some bills on the table after downing the last swallow of his tea, before he went on his way.

It was when he was fumbling for the keys of his truck when he heard the sudden squeal of breaks, and he jerked in suprise when he saw his truck lurch forward a few inches. Startled, he peered in dismay at the extremely crumpled bumper of the small Honda that had collided with his truck. The driver of the car-a teary-eyed woman-was already scrambling for the door handle, as she gaped in disbelief at her car, and then at the small dent in Mokuba's bumper. She dissolved into tears, stammering out an apology in between the sobs, her speech garbled by crying and panic. Mokuba stared quizzically at the dent to his truck, and then back to the frantically sobbing woman, uneasily, before he attempted a bit of chivalrous, but awkward soothing.

"It's alright, accidents happen. It's not like you ran over anybody." He said it softly with a resigned hitch of his shoulders. She stopped crying, her crumpled face blanched white, and trembling from her stifled sniffing. Mokuba gestured towards the dent in his bumper. "See? You hardly did any damage. Really, it's alright."

She managed to restrain her weeping into hitching breaths as she finally nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. I honestly didn't mean for this to happen. Please, let me get my insurance information out for you. I'm covered, it should take care of that dent-" And she was scrambling in her purse for the insurance papers, as Mokuba only waved it away. "Unless you need my insurance information to get your bumper fixed, I don't really see the need to make things more complicated. A dent that size is barely noticeable."

The woman stared at Mokuba for a disbelieving moment, before she only breathed out a long, pent up sigh. "Are you sure? I don't want you to have to pay for this."

Mokuba only gave her a tired smile and another shrug. "If it's all the same to you, I prefer to just leave it be...and maybe, for you to watch where you're driving, okay?"

Her smile was both awed and relieved as she continued her blathering thanks, as Mokuba politely endured them for a few more awkward moments, before he gently gestured to his truck, and shrugged. "I need to be on my way...safe driving..."

She finally waved in farewell, and suprised him by clasping his hand warmly, with a bright, earnest smile.  
"I don't think you know how much this act of mercy means, sir. I can't thank you enough for it."

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at that. "You've thanked me quite profusely, mayme, and I'm glad that I've...helped. It was nice to meet you, but I need to be going now, alright?"

Mokuba finally managed a polite, but hasty exit back to his truck, still shaking his head and attempting not to chuckle until he was finally out of her earshot.

____________________________________________________________________________________

It was two days later that Mokuba's quiet afternoon of television was interrupted by the soft knocking at his door. Puzzled, he raised an eyebrow as he rose from his lounging slouch in the chair to peer through the peephole to see who it was. Both eyebrows shot up in suprise when he saw the woman who had accidently bopped his truck earlier. She was standing there, her hand raised in hesitation, as she glanced around uncertainly. Mokuba saw that she had a large, plastic dish curled against her side in her other arm.  
Mokuba opened the door after her second knock, and stared down at her, curiously. She seemed startled by his sudden appearance, her bright smile wavering into discomfort.

"Hello again." She said softly, as she thrust forward the plastic dish, as if it were unwanted. Mokuba scowled at it, puzzled, but accepted it with a questioning glance. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the woman who hit your truck two days ago."

Mokuba blinked, nonplussed, as he shifted to accomodate the package. "Umm...hello to you, too. I remember you. What brings you here? And what is this?"" Mokuba was careful to keep his tone curious and not irritated as he gave the box a pointed glance.

"They're chocolate chip cookies." She gave him a warmer smile. "To thank you. You could have been a real jerk over my hitting your car, but you were so gracious about it, that I owe you this, at least. And, they're also to welcome you here. You're new in town, right? What brings you here?"

She regretted the friendly questions when his dark eyes filled with sadness, as he slumped in sudden reminder. He gave her a tired, forced smile, and an equally forced answer. "Yes...I'm new here. I've only been here for about two weeks."

She nodded, letting the unanswered question remain unanswered as she stepped back a bit. "My name is Josephine."

Mokuba nodded. "Pleasure to meet you...I'm Mokuba."

She looked puzzled as he stated his name. "Mokuba...that's certainly a unique name." Mokuba merely nodded as he gave the plastic box another glance. "Yes, I know...it's not really common. I don't know of anybody else who has it."

Josephine nodded, and seemed a bit uncomfortable as she ventured, "Do you like it here?"

Mokuba shrugged. "It's not bad, honestly. It's very peaceful, which is sort of what I was looking for. I like the quiet."

After a few more polite inquires, and faltering attempts at conversation, Mokuba gave an apologetic glance towards his door. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Josephine, and thank you very much for the cookies, but I need to go. Maybe I'll see you around?"

At her nod, he turned back to his apartment. He heard her sigh, and then the pleading word, "Wait."  
Mokuba pivoted towards her, puzzled by the look of pain on her face as she awkwardly shrugged and sighed again.

"Something wrong?" Mokuba watched as she worked her hands in nervous little knots. "I hope that this isn't too invasive, and I'm sorry if it's a bad subject, but I know about your older brother."

He flinched as if stabbed, deliberately setting the box on the railing, and turning towards her, his dark eyes burning with some emotion she could not identify. "What do you know about him, and how?" The words were curt as Mokuba eyed her, warily.

Josephine's shoulder rose and fell as she groped for the right words. "I recognized you from a few newspapers, and I read about your older brother's death. Mr. Kaiba was famous, even here. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Mokuba accepted that grimly, as he crossed his arms, and waited. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and looked at him with compassion. "And before you write me off as being nosy, or worry about what my motives are, I don't have any...except to let you know that I may understand what you're going through. I lost my brother, too." 


	11. Shared Wounds

Josephine bit back the regretful sigh and best of intentions when she saw Mokuba's flinch. His

eyes shot skyward in an odd study of the overhang for a long, long moment. He crossed his arms as if to shield himself

as he peered at her, warily."Then you know how it is." He muttered, raising his searing eyes to hers, his thoughts

unreadable.

There was another long moment, as she faltered in embarrassment for the impulsive spew, and he faltered in trying to

decipher what she wanted from him. The plastic felt cold beneath his suddenly numb hands, as he looked her over again,

and saw no threat, but only that worn look of tired grief. Mokuba knew that all too well. He saw the compassion glittering in

her hazel eyes, and that hesitant way she stood there, before she ducked her head,cheeks aflame.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be intrusive." Her shoulders hitched in negating distance as she stepped away.

Mokuba shook his head, as he watched her retreat, and suddenly blurted out, "Wait."

Mokuba gestured towards the cookies, sighed, and jerked his head back towards his apartment. "Let me go put these up, alright?

I'll be back in a minute."

She gave him an uncertain smile and a nod, and he pivoted on his boot-heel back into the darkness of his apartment.

Without waiting for an answer he ducked inside,grateful for the few moments to assess the situation as he opened the small fridge and lay

the large dish in the bottom. Uneasily, he watched her shadow on the floor, as she politely lingered in the door frame. His delaying tactic

finished, he wished again that he had Seto's uncanny knack on looking imposing and non-chalant about skipping social graces-and getting

away with it. The sudden flare of pain at the abstract thought hurt even more at the reminder of Seto's loss. Mokuba sighed through

gritted teeth as he forced himself to present a serene, detached calm he did not feel as he slowly came back to the door.

During that interval, Josephine was warring with herself on if it would have been less distressing for the both of them if she just

discretely left, and forgot the whole incident. She wondered if he had completely misinterpreted her motives, and flushed anew

at the humilating thought that he might now have the notion that she was somehow available. She swallowed hard at that idea,

shaking her head in dismissal. She had only meant to thank him for not costing her thousands in that mercy he had granted her

after hitting his car. She winced inwardly, and bitterly regretted ever bringing up an issue that was still so raw and deep as his

brother's death. It seemed cruel. She was already preparing a contrite apology when she heard his bootheels against the wood.

His dark eyes were unreadable as he carefully braced himself against the railing of his small porch, and faced her.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. I bet you know how hard it is, then."

She gave him a sad, understanding smile. "I do."

Three hours later, Mokuba and Josephine were chatting like old friends, munching on the cookies and sipping diet Coke during the scant

warm hours of the high hadn't moved from Mokuba's small porch, but had casually sat on the concrete steps. Mokuba told her

of Domino, of what life was like in Japan, the smattering of things he knew about card games, and she patiently listened as he spoke

glowingly of Seto's heroics, though he was careful not to dredge up any of the raw memories of his tortured last days. She remarked kindly

that Seto seemed like an amazing character, and Mokuba responded with a nod and another forced smile that seemed like it was

on the verge of breaking.

The conversation gradually drifted into Josephine's story. Mokuba listened patiently as she tiredly recited her brother's story with the

same note of casual agony that Mokuba had become well aquainted with over the last year and a half. Josephine spoke with both

deep love and sorrow when she clenched her fists in her lap and quietly unfolded the tale of her only sibling, Richard.

She had spent most of her childhood under the firm disapproval of both her parents, felt the scathing dismissal that had flowered into

full alienation from the rest of the world, and she felt mostly scorned and completely unacceptable. She found a bit of understanding,

and solace in the company of her only sibling, though.

"Rich was two years younger than me, but we hardly ever went through any of the typical sibling rivalry. Sometimes we had our

squabbles, but we got along for the most part. He was two years younger than me, age-wise, but he got me in a way that nobody

else ever could."

Her mouth twisted in anguish as she slowly crossed her arms, her knuckles growing whiter from the strain as she told of the horrible

day her brother died.

"I had just graduated from high school, and had gotten accepted into college out of state. I was nervous about leaving my family, my

friends, but I was excited to finally leave behind the tension at home, and that boring little town. It felt like life was finally working for

once, and the future seemed to have some good possibilities. Richard was a junior in high school, then. We spent a lot of time that

summer talking about what it would be like for me to leave, and how hard it was going to be. Rich always reassured me that he

was going to be alright, and I was going to be fine, we'd all visit and email. He always knew how to make me feel better."

"I remember the day he died, every detail. It was late fall. I was packing my stuff to go home for Thanksgiving break, and talking to

my roomate, when I got the phone call. It was early in the afternoon, on the last day of classes. I was on my way to my car, when

my mom called my cell phone. She was in tears, nearly hysterical. She told me that Rich had been in a wreck, and he had been

badly injured, and was in the hospital. She told me to please get home, that she would call me when she knew more. I'm honestly

not suprised that I didn't get a speeding ticket...that drive home home seemed to take forever, even though I was going faster than

I ever had in my life. I didn't bother going to my house, I just went straight to the hospital. Mom had phoned to let me know that

Rich had been taken to the ICU, with severe head trauma."

She choked, as Mokuba instinctively cringed at what he knew was coming, and gently cupped her shoulder in comfort. She shuddered,

her recounting of what followed dry and brittle, and completely tearless.

"I was buzzed into the ICU unit. Mom met me in the hallway, she was crying, but trying to hold it together for all of us. She was always

a tough lady that way. She told me that Richard had been put on life support, that he wasn't breathing on his own, and they weren't

sure if he was going to make it. I knew that it was bad, Mokuba, but I had no idea it was really hell until I went into that ICU room

to see my baby brother. My dad came up, and hugged me, and we both just stood there, holding onto each other. And then, I saw

Rich." She made a choking sound, but continued, softly.

"Rich...didn't look like my brother. He was hooked up to a respirator, he had a shunt in his head to reduce the swelling on his brain...

his entire face looked like one big bruise, and he was hooked up to all these machines. Later on, I learned from the police report on the

wreck that Rich was driving down a curve, swerved to avoid hitting something, and rolled his car at least twice. He wasn't wearing his

seatbelt, and he had been ejected from the car. I remember being mad at Richard for that, but I was enraged at God for letting that

happen. Why should my brother pay such a high price for one stupid mistake, when there are so many more who do so much worse

and never suffer for it?"

She drew another breath. "Rich held on for three days. For three days, I don't remember doing anything but shuffling back and forth

from that waiting room, to his bed side, drinking a lot of coffee, saying a lot of prayers. I held his hand, and I begged him to pull through.

He never woke up, he never regained any sort of awareness, and on the third day, the doctors told us that he had no brain activity. He wasn't

breathing on his own, he wasn't going to come back. My parents asked the doctors to unhook him, and let their son go home.

I held his hand, when he stopped breathing. He died in Mom's arms."

And then, she quietly wiped away a tear, as Mokuba quietly passed her a tissue. She thanked him, apologizing for dredging up so much

of her own issues in the face of his loss, and Mokuba just shook his head, sadly. "Actually, I appreciate this, Josephine. One of the

hardest things about Seto's death is feeling so...alienated from the rest of the people around me. I'm just so tired of having to tell

everybody that it's alright when I don't see how it's ever going to be again. I get tired of being told that I need to move on, and get

over it. I don't think they get that I buried my brother, but I lost part of myself, and I know that I'm not getting either one back. That's

what makes it so hard. I know that you lost your brother rather quickly, compared to Seto. He lived 9 months after his diagnosis, and

he suffered so much...but, at least it gave us time to say good-bye."

Josephine nodded. "I don't think it matters _how,_ Mokuba. It still hurts either way."


End file.
